


Stirring Apart

by HugeAlienPie



Category: Love Simon (2018)
Genre: Arcadia - Freeform, Blue and Jacques - Freeform, College, Fluff, Food, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Secret Identity, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 07:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15262746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugeAlienPie/pseuds/HugeAlienPie
Summary: Bram and Simon break up in their first year of college. Two years later, Blue and Jacques try again.





	Stirring Apart

**Author's Note:**

> I started this less than 48 hours after watching _Love, Simon_. It's 96% movie canon + 4% _Simon vs._ and _LOTO_ info I've gleaned from the internet.
> 
> Warnings for food. Please let me know if I need to add any tags.

"Tim! You will not freaking _believe_ —"

But in the end, it's Simon who can't believe. He charges into his boyfriend's bedroom fifteen lousy minutes earlier than expected and comes face-to-ass with an ass that is not his or Tim's. His backpack falls to the floor with a dull thud.

Tim looks up and says, "Aw, shit, it's Simon," but he makes no move to stop what he's doing—namely, cheating on Simon. The other guy grimaces—Simon can't tell if it's embarrassment, or if he's discovering that Tim isn't particularly good at sex—but he doesn't do anything to stop this train wreck, either.

And like that, Simon Spier is ending his junior year of college as a single man.

*

Simon hasn't been single in Shady Creek for two years. He's forgotten what a shittacular experience it is. The homophobes smirk like Simon's breakup proves the fundamental instability of same-gender relationships. The well-meaning straights treat him with a caution better suited to a terminal diagnosis than a cheating ex. And people still want to set him up with Carter Addison, who's like fifty percent more obnoxious than Martin and only twenty percent less conniving.

Without Leah and Abby, Simon would have legitimately lost his mind by now. Their path to post-breakup healing is to climb the old railroad signal tower, pour cheap vodka down Simon's throat, and scream "FUCK TIM O'CONNELL!" at the top of their lungs. It's very cathartic, although he could do without the disapproving looks from his family the mornings after. Don't they know he's _grieving?_

Despite now being an official American college senior, legal to drink and everything, Simon's not big on the party scene. So his face must be doing something pretty bitchy when Abby and Leah get to his door to drag him to a party at Nick's.

"Don't give me that face, Spier," Abby says. "We've held your hand all week. Now we're asking you to come with us while we enjoy the novelty of drinking our gross booze around other people."

Simon doesn't snort, because he fears his friends' wrath. But if Abby and Leah pay attention to anyone but each other tonight, he'll eat his _Arcadia_ script.

They walk to Nick's so no one has to be DD (thanks, smallass hometown). Leah blasts Hayley Kiyoko to get them in a party mood. Simon rolls his eyes a lot, but he's happy to see Leah's smile. It's been too rare this year.

It's not supposed to be a huge party, so Abby rings the bell like a civilized quasi-adult. The door swings open seconds later, and—

And Simon is a dunce. Nick's party means Nick's friends. Nick's friends means—" _Bram._ "

Now he's not sure how he's gone this long _not_ seeing Bram. It's not like Shady Creek is that big.

Bram bites his lip. "Hey, Si."

Simon's anger ( _you do **not** get to call me that anymore_ ) wars with his libido ( _oh, damn, you got **hotter**_ ). The result is an inarticulate grunt that, distressingly, raises no eyebrows from anyone. They cluster awkwardly around the doorway until Abby loudly announces, "Okay, we're going in!" grabs Leah's hand, and hauls her into the house.

Simon shuffles uncertainly on the front steps. He doesn't know how to _be_ around Bram anymore, and it _sucks._

"You look good," Bram says quietly.

"Thanks," Simon says, though he thinks he looks passable at best. "You look… really great."

Bram's shoulders are, magically, even broader than when he and Simon were dating. His hair is longer, in short twists all over his head. And three years of college soccer have been a _gift_ to admirers of soccer calves.

Simon suddenly remembers this embarrassing thing his mom used to do. She'd hold her fingers up toward Bram and Simon like a frame around their faces. The one time Simon was foolish enough to ask what she was doing, she said, "I'm picturing the men you're becoming." Simon had thought it was unbearably cheesy, but now he gets it. He sees the man Bram's become, and for a second he's blindingly angry that he wasn't there to witness it happening.

Bram offers a small, shy smile that Simon used to get to see every day. Simon clenches his fists in the pockets of his hoodie. "Thank you," Bram says.

After another tense pause, Simon says, "Are you—" at the same time Bram says, "What's with—"

They do a round of stilted and ridiculous "You first," "No, you." Simon tries to smile, but it's hard around his gritted teeth.

"GREENFELD!" Nick bellows from inside.

Bram grimaces. "Guess they need me."

"Yeah. I should find Leah and Abby," Simon says, while a voice inside his head screams to stick by Bram's side and never let him out of sight again.

"Yeah, listen, _do not_ leave without saying goodbye, okay?" Bram throws this halfway over his shoulder, already on his way to his bros in need.

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Simon lies. He watches Bram walk away (that _ass_ tho). He looks at the clusters of people he has deliberately not kept in touch with since he started college, most well on their way to sloshed and no doubt gossiping about _other_ people he hasn't kept in touch with. His friends are in the house somewhere, but he'll have to wade through everyone else to find them.

Simon turns, lets the door slam shut behind him, and walks home. He throws a halfhearted wave to Nora and his parents as he passes the living room and trudges up the stairs to his bedroom. He texts Abby, Leah, and Nick to let them know he's left the party. Then he flops face-first onto the bed and falls asleep without taking off more than his shoes. It's not even 9:30.

*

 **Leah:** wthell u jerk u ditched us  
**Leah:** did u even come inside the house?

 **Abby:** we're not mad, si, just worried

 **Leah:** speak for yourself suso. some of us are mad

 **Nick:** haha does this have anything 2 do w y greenfeld looks like somebody gave him a puppy and then took it back?

 **Abby:** ohhhh  
**Abby:** i'm sorry si

 **Leah:** yeah sorry  
**Leah:** still kind of mad at u

*

Simon has a Gmail notification, and it's driving him up the wall. He's checked his inbox three times since he woke up this morning feeling like he'd been run over twice by the feelings bus; there's _nothing there_. And yet that damned red circle with its white "1" insists that he has an unread message somewhere.

Simon eats breakfast with his family, helps his dad with yard work, talks with Leah when she wakes up hungover and cursing LastNight!Leah's poor impulse control. And still he can't figure out where that email is hiding.

In desperation, he clicks the menu icon. None of the folder headings are bolded. He's about to close the menu when he notices a blue circle with a white "J" in the upper right corner. What the heck is that? What's "J" stand for?

_Jacques._

Simon stares. Jacques' email address. The one he created to communicate with Blue.

Technically, anyone who saw Martin's Creeksecrets post outing him has the address, because Martin had posted the screenshots. But only a couple people besides Bram ever used it—a homophobe Simon had immediately blocked, and two scared, closeted freshmen he'd kept in touch with until his first batch of college finals slammed into him. No one has used it in years.

Fingers trembling, Simon opens the account.

 

_**bluegreen612@gmail.com   Hey Friday, 11:09PM** _

 

It takes a long minute before Simon registers what he's seeing. Actually, he's not sure what he's seeing. He clicks with trepidation.

 

 **June 12, 11:09PM**  
**From: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**To: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**Subj: Hey**

_Simon,_

_I know I asked you not to leave without talking to me, but I can see why you wouldn't. Shady Creek's small. We were bound to run into each other eventually. I just wasn't expecting it to be so **hard** when we did._

_Sometimes I wish we could go back, you know? Like, to before we were dating. Back to when we were Blue and Jacques, two anonymous gay dudes on the internet, reaching out and making that connection for the first time. (You can see I've retained your love of sentence fragments.)_

_Anyway, I hope we get to see each other again this summer, for more than 30 seconds. Last night sucked, but never seeing you at all these past couple years has been worse._

_-Bram_

_P.S. Obviously, my bluegreen118 account is long gone. Today is June 12. I figured you'd get the idea._

 

Simon reads the email five times. He rubs his hands over his face until his cheeks sting. Then he closes the app aggressively, shoves his phone in his jeans pocket, and storms out of his room. He can't deal with this right now.

Downstairs, Simon kisses his parents on the cheeks and paces until his dad tells him to get out of the house. He sits on the front steps and texts Leah, Abby, and Nick, _What are we doing today?_

Leah has practice for a gig next week, and Nick's trapped in a family thing. Simon and Abby meet at WaHo, because they may be out of high school, but in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, there's not much to do in Shady Creek.

Abby maintains a stream of chatter, filling Simon's uncharacteristic silences. She regales him with stories of what he missed at the party last night (not much, as far as he can tell) while never asking what happened or why he left before he'd gotten in the door. He's so grateful he could kiss her. Except that would upset Leah. Maybe.

Abby segues into stories about her professors. Simon loses the thread of the conversation thinking back to when they were all choosing colleges, about how Abby and Nick broke up because they didn't think they could make a long-distance relationship work. At the time, Simon and Bram had told each other—and themselves—that the hour and a half between Simon in Haverford and Bram in New York would be easily overcome by love, and how a year later it had felt a solar system away. Now, despite everything, Abby and Nick are pretty good friends again, while Simon and Bram went almost two years without even seeing each other.

When he tunes back in, Abby's whacking the bottom of the ketchup bottle over her hash browns and saying, "—but then the puppy tried to eat her wedding ring, and it turned into a _real_ fight because her wife didn't realize she didn't have it with her!" She cackles, and Simon tries to laugh along. Abby sets down the ketchup. "Did you hear a word of that?"

"Yeah! Yes, of course I did. I, uh, you were talking about…" He wracks his brain but can't come up with even a decent guess. "Sorry, Abs."

"It's okay. You've been a thousand miles away all day."

"Sorry. Seeing Bram last night—" For a minute, he thinks of telling her about the email. But he worries about what she'll say. He worries about what he _wants_ her to say.

Luckily for him, Abby smiles sadly and nods. "I get it." More cheerily, she continues, "I was saying that my Psychology of Interpersonal Relationships prof and her wife go out and pick each other up."

"What?!" The word is more than half incredulous laughter around a mouthful of waffle.

Abby grins. "Most of their date nights are super ordinary, like, 'how was your day?' 'try the fish,' 'I hope the new babysitter works out' stuff. But twice a year they take off their rings, go someplace nobody knows them, and pretend they're meeting for the first time."

"Wow, that's… _why_?" Simon can't wrap his mind around knowing someone that well and pretending not to.

"Tracy says that when you've been married fourteen years and have three kids under 10, you make your magic where you can." She shrugs. "Plus, I mean, I've met Tracy's wife, and they were _all over_ each other, so _something's_ working."

Simon's shoulder's shake with laughter, and something tight in his chest starts to loosen. Then Leah texts Abby a sound recording from their practice, and Simon doesn't give another thought to Professor Tracy and her wife.

*

He remembers that night. Unable to fall asleep, Simon stares at his ceiling in the darkness and pictures Abby's professor sliding her wedding ring into her pocket, stepping into some coffee shop or used bookstore near campus, and falling in love with her wife all over again. Feeling that jolt of attraction over and over, choosing this person time and again.

It strikes him forcefully, if belatedly, that maybe this idea, or something like it, is why Bram sent that email to Jacques' account. They're _well_ past the days when neither knew who the other was, and Bram has both Simon's personal email address and his school one. Does Bram want to remeet Simon through Jacques and Blue?

Simon stares at his ceiling and thinks, _Well, why can't we?_

He lunges for his laptop, dragging it into bed with him. He navigates to Gmail and opens Bram's email. _Nothing ventured,_ he thinks, and starts typing.

 

 **June 13, 10:22PM**  
**From: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**To: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**Subj: RE: Hey**

_Blue,_

_I think I know what you mean. It was freaking hard knowing how to talk to you with all that history between is. We can't turn back the clock. But maybe we can give ourselves a fresh start? Like you said, just Jacques and Blue. Making a connection._

_Maybe you'll think this is a terrible idea. If it sounds good… you know what to do._

_Jacques_

 

Simon holds his breath and hits send. He puts the laptop back on the desk and is asleep in minutes.

*

When he wakes up, he has a new email. And it's a _new_ email, with a new subject line, not a reply to the other thread. Simon squeezes one hand tightly and opens the message with the other.

 

 **June 14, 6:20PM**  
**From: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**To: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**Subj: Making a connection**

_Hey, Jacques. I hope you don't mind me writing out of nowhere like this. I got your contact from a friend who thought I needed more gay friends, and I decided to take a chance._

_Call me Blue. I'm 21 and getting ready to start my senior year at Columbia University in New York. I'm double-majoring in creative writing and African American studies. I'm also on the university soccer team—go Lions!_

_I spent the first 17 years of life as an only child, but now I have a pretty cute 3-year-old half-brother. My parents both have small families, but my stepmom has a **huge** one, so now I have all sorts of aunts, uncles, and cousins I can't keep track of. _

_I'm Black, Jewish, and gay, which let me tell you is a whole **thing** , not that I'd change any of it. I'm out at school, but I'm not in the lgbtq group. I say it's because I don't have time, but really I'm not much for joining things. Being on the soccer team is more than enough organized group activity for me. But I do get kind of lonely sometimes, especially because I'm surrounded by straight sports bros so much of the time._

_Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck on a Ferris wheel. One minute I'm on top of the world, then the next I'm at rock-bottom. I broke up with my high school boyfriend our first year of college. I've dated since but haven't had any other serious relationships. Most of the time I'm fine being single, but some days I miss what we had. Some days I miss **him**._

_Thanks for reaching out, Jacques. It means a lot._

_Blue_

 

Simon blows out a breath. They're doing this. They're starting over. He grins and starts typing.

*

It takes one week for Leah to call him out.

"Okay, spill," she says. She takes Bieber's leash so Simon doesn't have anything to fiddle with.

"What?" he asks unconvincingly.

Leah rolls her eyes. "You're a terrible liar. I don't understand how you managed to stay in the closet for so long."

He shrugs. "Can't I just… be happy?"

"You _could_ , but I don't think you _are_. Last week you were, understandably, a total sad sack about Tim. And I know running into Bram hurt. Now it's like your feet don't touch the ground, and you were _singing_ this morning while you were coming to the door. Did you meet someone?"

" _No_ ," he says, glad he can say that with absolute honesty.

"Did you discover some new flavor of Oreo the rest of us will think is disgusting but that you won't shut up about?"

Simon laughs. But then he can't help it: thinking about Oreos makes him think about Bram; thinking about Bram makes him think about the email he sent before bed last night and the reply he might have the next time he checks his phone.

Leah gawps. "I know that face! That's your Bram face. Are you—" She grabs his wrist and hauls him off the sidewalk, keeps her voice low and conspiratorial. "Are you guys back together?"

"No," he says firmly. He's dreamt of it; he won't lie to himself about that. But the emails with Blue are about getting back the friend he lost, not the boyfriend.

"Okay," Leah says, skepticism coloring her voice. "You'd tell me if you were, right?"

He nods. "You'll be one of the first to know."

*

 **June 16, 10:56PM**  
**From: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**To: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**Subj: RE: the old college try**

 

_…warped idea of what being a theater major is like, but okay. If that's what you want to believe. ;)_

_Last semester I was in a production of Tom Stoppard's_ Arcadia _. I played Septimus. Which was freaking hilarious, given how many women he seduces. Everyone bought it, though. Because I'm an **actor,** damn it. And I got to talk with a British accent, which was fun._

_High School Boyfriend used to run lines with me all the time. Poor guy barely liked theater. But it was the quickest way to calm me down when I was stressing. Grab a script, read a scene together. Didn't even have to be a play I was in._

_Sometimes I feel bad for my college boyfriends. We ran lines when I had a part, but they didn't know it helped my stress levels at other times. Might've helped our relationships. Then again, I never told HSB. He just noticed I seemed calmer after. Asked if it was helping. Did the others not care enough to notice that?_

_I don't expect a guy I'm dating to magically know what I need. But is it too much to ask that he at least try to figure it out?_

_Jacques_

*

 **June 21, 5:41PM**  
**From: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**To: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**Subj: Re: Oreoff**

_Cherry Cola Oreos were vastly superior to Piña Colada. Anyone who says otherwise is deluded._

 

 **June 21, 8:30PM**  
**From: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**To: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**Subj: Re: Oreoff**

_Are you calling me deluded?_

 

  
**June 22, 9:18AM**  
**From: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**To: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**Subj: Re: Oreoff**

_If the sandwich cookie fits…_

_*_

**June 26, 10:52PM**  
**From: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**To: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**Subj: RE: Hollow weiners (is it bad that this still makes me laugh?)**

_…Sophomore year we went as the Scooby Gang. I was Fred. I tried to convince my parents to let drive the family dog up to Haverford to use as Scooby. My little sister said no way was she letting him into a "dormful of drunk, sugar-high college idiots." She was very dramatic about it. Runs in the family, I guess…_

_*_

**June 29, 12:18PM**  
**From: bluegreen612@gmail.com**  
**To: frommywindow1@gmail.com**  
**Subj: land of the "free"**

_I'm not big on 4th of July. The idea of celebrating our "independence," when at that time my ancestors were considered property (and some people where I'm from wish we still were), makes my skin crawl._

_My stepmom's family has a lake house an hour away. We'll head up on the 3rd and stay at least two weeks. Internet's spotty, so I might not be able to write much._

_I'll miss you._

_Love, Blue_

*

Garrett never needs much excuse to throw a party. Simon isn't in a party mood, but Nick assures him that, despite the name, the "Bon Voyage Bram Bash" will be more cookout than rager.

"Besides," he says, "it's for _Bram._ I know you two have been getting along better this summer."

He's right. The unspoken rules of the game say that Simon and Bram can't acknowledge Jacques and Blue, but it bleeds into every interaction, they way they've been relearning each other, rebuilding _them_. Of course their friends have noticed.

Still, he doubts anyone will fault him for his slight hesitation before he gets out of his car that night at the park. It's one thing to go to a party Bram will _probably_ be at. It's another thing entirely to go to a party _for Bram._

He eventually climbs out of the car, jogging to reach Leah and Abby, who are waiting impatiently at the front of the car. He throws his lamb and feta burger (courtesy of Nora) on the grill and accepts surprisingly sincere, non-bro-y hugs from Nick and Garrett. He spots Bram in a knot of former Creekwood soccer players and waves but makes no effort to go over to him.

Less than five minutes later, Simon barely manages to hang onto the sweating soda bottle in his hand when a weight crashes into him. He looks up, and it's Bram, cursing apologetically and glaring daggers at Garrett, who won't stop laughing.

"I'm sorry, Si," Bram says.

"It's fine," Simon promises him, adding his own glare to the pile on Garrett. "I know how friends can be."

"Yeah. Thanks for coming tonight. I know this isn't your scene."

Simon laughs. "Well, far be it from me to deprive Garrett of a party opportunity."

"I'll be an hour away for three weeks," Simon huffs. "It's not a yearlong tour of the Continent."

"He's going to miss you." Simon nudges Bram with his shoulder. "We all are."

"I guess. Hey, as long as I'm here—" He holds out his arms. Simon steps into the hug and tries not to melt. He'd forgotten the exact feel of Bram's arms around him, but now he realizes that he's measured every guy who's hugged him in the past two years against this standard.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" Simon asks, trying to cram anything like normalcy into the moment.

"Ten?" Bram laughs softly. "Dad says nine, but try getting a three-year-old to do anything on an adult's schedule. We'll go when Caleb's ready and not a second before."

Simon laughs, but he feels a sting, too. Little Fetus is an actual real person now. He's missed so much.

"Yo, Greenfeld!" one of the soccer guys shouts, waving Bram back.

Bram shakes his head and waves them off. "I'm staying here for a bit!" he calls and flips them off when they send up a round of whistles and catcalls. "Ignore them," he mutters. "It's what I do."

Bram grabs a bottle of water from the cooler and gestures Simon toward a circle of logs around a fire pit off to the side of the grills. It's too hot for a fire tonight, so the logs are empty. And yet when Simon sits down, Bram crowds against him like he's leaving room for at least three more people.

"Uh, hey," Simon says, feeling both lost and overwhelmed.

"Hey," Bram says cheerfully, like he has no idea that he's wrecking Simon's life right now. "Listen, I've been meaning to ask you—"

Simon braces. Is this it? Is this where Bram ends the game by asking Simon why he restarted it?

"What is up with Abby and Leah? We've been watching them all summer, and no one can tell if they're together or not."

Simon laughs weakly. "Honestly? I gave up trying to figure that out in high school. They date, they break up, they see other people—they _don't_ break up and still see other people. But they always find their way back to each other. I think…" He smiles. "I think they're building something special."

Bram nods. "Special takes time to build."

Simon looks at Bram. Bram looks intently back. Simon holds his breath. This feels like A Moment if ever there was one.

A plate holding Simon's burger and a snack bag of Doritos drops into his lap. Leah settles on his other side like there are no other seats in the _world._ "Eat up, Spier," she grumps. Simon trades grins with Bram and digs into his burger, moment broken but not, he thinks, lost forever.

*

Simon loses track of Bram after dinner. It's almost three hours before they cross paths again.

"Hi," Bram says. He points toward the densely wooded area around the park's western edge. "Take a walk with me?" Bram is bright-eyed and breathless but Simon's pretty sure, in spite of how many flasks are floating around, he's completely sober.

"Okay," Simon says, feeling breathless, himself.

They're silent as they walk, shoulders bumping, hands brushing. With anyone else, it would be… companionable. But this is Bram, and it's Blue, and every touch sets Simon's nerve endings on fire.

They reach a spot where the ground slopes away, forming a bowl the size of a soccer field. Bram stands at the edge and stares into it. Simon stands by his side and waits. He watches the sweep of Bram's eyelashes, the curve of his cheek. He's beautiful, and in the fading twilight, he _glows._

"Thanks," Bram says at last. "Needed to get away for a while."

Simon remembers Bram's complicated relationship with parties and nods. "Any time." He means it, and doesn't that just beat all. How far he's come from a month ago, when he couldn't even be at the same party as Bram.

"I think about it a lot," Bram says quietly. He's not looking at Simon. "Us. Our time together."

"Me, too."

"Sometimes I think we shouldn't have lasted as long as we did. Your first relationship with a guy, my first serious relationship _at all_ —we had no idea what we were doing. But it felt… _easy,_ you know? Everything with you felt easy. Now…" He shakes his head. Simon's barely breathing. "The guys I've been with since you? I know what I'm doing now, but no one else is easy."

Simon is reeling. Nothing exists except Bram and the soft sigh of wind in the trees. " _Bram_ ," he breathes.

And then they're kissing, like Simon's been wanting to do all night, or all month, or since the day they broke up. Simon's fingers cradle Bram's jaw. Bram's hands fist in Simon's hoodie. Simon feels the heat of Bram's skin, the softness of his skin.

It's the most mediocre kiss Simon's ever had.

Oh, the technique is fine. Bram was always a great kisser, and he's gotten better since Simon last had the privilege. And Simon's been assured that he's no slouch in this department, himself. But nothing's _behind_ it—no rushing flame of desire, no fluttering swoop of love. It's all lips and tongues and… and _mechanics._

Simon pulls back and sees his disappointment and confusion reflected in Bram's eyes. "Um…"

"Maybe if we—" Bram angles his head on the opposite direction and leans back in. This kiss is… nice. Simon's had worse. And that's the best he can say about it.

They separate and stare at each other. "I, um…" Simon begins, but he has no idea where the sentence should go from there.

"Yeah." Bram nods like Simon's said something for him to agree with. He points toward the party. "I'm gonna, um. Garrett and Nick."

"Okay, yeah," Simon agrees desperately. "I'm thinking about heading out." He doesn't mention that he literally started thinking about it twenty seconds ago.

Simon hangs back and lets Bram walk ahead of him. His mind reels as he returns to the party, makes sure Leah and Abby have a way home, and drives to his parents' house. He forces himself to focus on the road and not let his thoughts spiral into bewilderment and panic.

He kisses his mom's forehead as she sits at the kitchen counter with her laptop, catching up on case notes. He waves to Nora as he passes her room, her door open for once. Then he goes into his own room, shuts the door, flings himself onto the bed, and finally allows his thoughts to flood in.

There had been a time when Simon would rather have kissed Bram Greenfeld than do anything else in the world. What had gone so wrong tonight?

He doesn't think it's compatibility. He knows it happens, but he doesn't think the past two relatively uneventful years have changed them enough for their bodies to forget each other. It's not lack of attraction, at least not on Simon's end. He's no lovestruck teen anymore, but being around Bram ties him in knots as much as it always has.

There's something else. Some elusive something that he and Bram don't have right now. Simon can _almost_ put his finger on it, and he's not going to rest until he figures it out.

*

Simon jolts awake from a dream where he's kissing Bram on a stage while Martin sits in the back row of the house, critiquing his form. He's half hard and fully disgusted with himself. It's 8:15 in the morning.

Simon rolls onto his back and mutters, "Crap" at the ceiling.

Out of sorts with himself and the world, Simon pulls on a Haverford theater department t-shirt and a worn pair of shorts he's had since high school. He heads toward the hall and then, on a whim, grabs the book on top of the pile by the door.

In the kitchen, Nora's topping cups of Greek yogurt with homemade granola. Simon grabs one and eats a few bites before sliding the book across the counter. "Run lines with me?"

Nora's spoon clatters onto the counter. Bieber yelps as oat clusters rain down on his head. Nora gives an ear-splitting shriek, and Simon winces. "Are you _serious_?" she demands, and, wow, her face is very close to his face. "Are you _messing with me_ right now?"

Simon feels his eyebrows draw down. "Yes, I'm serious; no, I'm not messing with you. What's the big deal?"

" _Simon_." Nora's expression has a gravity he's used to her applying to a complex new recipe or memorizing Nicki Minaj's tour dates. "You have _never_ let me run lines with you."

"No, that can't be—"

"It _is_. That was a you-and-Bram thing."

That _definitely_ isn't right, because Simon was acting before he started dating Bram. But if Nora's excited about this moment in Spier family history, he's not going to rain on that.

"All right," he says, "you're in the big leagues now. Start from the beginning; you read Thomasina. Don't bother with the stage directions."

Nora picks up the script, finds the first page, and says in a ridiculous voice that she must think sounds dramatic, "Septimus, what is carnal embrace?" Her eyes widen, and she flips the book closed to stare at the cover. "The hell, Spier? Is this _porn_?"

Simon swats her arm. "It's a masterwork of English drama. Less judging; more reading."

Nora actually turns up her nose. "It's your turn anyway," she says. Simon resolutely refrains from laughing at her calling them "turns" as he delivers Septimus' first line.

They fall into the rhythm quickly, the easy give-and-take of a well-written script. Nora is charmed by Thomasina's precocity and Septimus' quick dodges. Nora tries a British accent; it's bad, but not worse than some of the people who'd been in the production.

Then Nora gets to Thomasina's line about the jam, and Simon freezes. He holds up his hand before she can go on. "Read that again, please."

She does, and for a long moment he stares without seeing her. Then he lunges across the counter, kisses her cheek and grabs the book. "You're brilliant!" he yells as he runs out of the room.

"You're darned gay I am!" she calls back.

Simon's gaze keeps jumping to the dashboard clock as he navigates the still-familiar route. He drives as fast as he dares and trusts that Bram was right when he said they wouldn't be on the road before ten.

He flashes back to that night on the Ferris wheel, Martin's Hail Mary last ride, Bram racing up at the last possible instant. He grins. They do like their dramatic gestures.

Three cars sit in Bram's driveway as Simon parks haphazardly across it. Bram's dad and stepmom are coming out of the house, Mr. Greenfeld with a suitcase in one hand and a sleeping bag under the other arm, Mindy holding Caleb's hand and clearly haranguing Mr. Greenfeld about something. Bram trails behind, rolling his eyes and looking 1,000 percent done with them both.

Caleb breaks away from Mindy as Simon's opening his door. Now he's trapped in the car by an adorable toddler with wild brown hair and Bram's smile. "Hi!" he says. "I'm Caleb!"

"Hi, Caleb," Simon says. "I'm Simon."

"Si-mon," Caleb says, testing the syllables carefully. "Do you like fish?"

Simon eyes Caleb's purple T-shirt, which has a lot of fish on it, and says, "Fish are nice."

Caleb proceeds to tell Simon the names of every fish on his shirt. As far as he can tell, they aren't from a book or cartoon or anything; Caleb's just... named them. Simon grins. This is Bram's brother, all right. When he's run out of fish, Caleb looks at Simon and says, "Are you coming with us?"

Simon shakes his head ruefully. "No, I'm here to see Bram."

Caleb beams. "BAM!" he shouts. Simon laughs.

Bram appears behind Caleb and rests a hand on his head. "Simon? What are you doing here?"

"I had a—I want to—um…" Simon looks helplessly at Caleb.

Bram nudges Caleb out of the way. Simon scrambles out of the car and waves sheepishly to Bram's dad and stepmom—and, oh, good, there's his mom, too. Great. The gang's all here. He thrusts his script at Bram. "Lines?"

Bram's eyes widen. "Now is not the time, Simon," he hisses, looking pointedly at the suitcases piled in the back of his dad's hatchback.

" _Please,_ Bram," Simon begs. "I had an epiphany, and it doesn't work without this part."

With another sigh, Bram takes the script. Simon thrills at the memory of all the times they've done this together.

"Bottom of page four," Simon tells him. "Thomasina's last line."

Bram finds the line and dives in. He's never tried to _act_ when they do this; it's just his normal, soft, beloved voice, which brings every word an integrity that would inspire any actor. "'When you stir your rice pudding, Septimus, the spoonful of jam spreads itself round making red trails like the picture of a meteor in my astronomical atlas. But if you stir backward, the jam will not come together again. Indeed, the pudding does not notice and continues to turn pink just as before. Do you think this is odd?'"

"'No,'" Simon says. No one ever accuses Septimus of being overly _nice._

"'Well, I do,'" Bram says. "'You cannot stir things apart.'"

Simon takes a deep breath. "'No more you can, time must needs run backward, and since it will not, we must stir our way onward mixing as we go, disorder out of disorder into disorder until pink is complete, unchanging and unchangeable, and we are done with it forever.'" Simon steps forward and takes the script out of Bram's hand. "You cannot stir things apart." He searches Bram's beautiful face, the eyes he's missed so much. "We tried to separate Blue and Jacques back out from Bram and Simon. And it was fun for a while. But it doesn't _work_ , because we spent so much time stirring all of those things together."

A small smile peeks around the corners of Bram's mouth. "I felt like I was kissing a stranger," he admits.

Simon nods. "Yes, exactly. Because we _know_ each other, Bram. You still know me better than anyone, even after two years of barely talking, and I _think_ I still know you. But we tried to... to take back what we knew, and pretend there was no history there, and it doesn't work."

Bram closes his eyes. "So, what do we do?"

"What do you want to do?"

Brams eyes open again, and he gives Simon a piercing look. "That's not fair."

"I know, I know," Simon squeezes his hands. "The thing is, we didn't break up because we had some huge problem we couldn't get past. It was just... distance. We drifted away from each other. We didn't stop loving each other." He looks at the ground. "At least, I didn't stop loving you."

"I didn't stop loving you, either," Bram says softly. "But, Simon, we _did_ have a problem we couldn't get past, and it's still a problem now. The distance, the time—if you think that's going to get _better_ in our senior year of college—"

"Hey, no," Simon says quickly, "I've learned a lot about those kinds of plans, okay? I don't—yeah, okay, it would be freaking _amazing_ to get to be with you for the long haul, but I'm not... attached? to that, I guess. I just want as much time with you as I can get."

"Yeah?"

Simon nods. "Yeah. I'd also like to think we've gotten better at time management since our freshman year."

Someone snorts. Probably Bram's mom. It jolts him, the reminder that they're not alone out here, but he doesn't care. Many of the major milestones of their relationship happened in front of some kind of audience; Simon would barely know how to do this in private.

"Bram-Blue," Simon says quietly, "can I kiss you?"

Bram gets that look that says he can't believe how ridiculous Simon is—or how ridiculous _he_ is for going along with whatever Simon's proposing. "Yes, Simon-Jacques," he says, "you may."

Simon beams, cradles Bram's face in his hands, and kisses his precious grammar nerd face.

And _here_ it is. A rush of emotion, a love that was banked but never doused. And under that, a simmering hum of desire, coiling through every part of Simon and reminding him that this amazing man was his first in so many ways. He's so excited for them to show each other what they've learned.

Bram brings one hand up to cup the back of Simon's head and rests the other at his hip. Simon sighs in contentment and slides one of his hands around the back of Bram's neck. Bram moves closer, angles his head, slides his lips against Simon's again and again as the thoughts rush out of Simon's head.

Bram pulls away but doesn't go far. He leans the side of his head against Simon's and wraps his arms around Simon's shoulders, and they stand there holding each other, breathing warmly across each other's ears.

"You boys don't do anything halfway, do you?" Bram's mom asks.

Bram angles his head to look at her. "Like you do."

Simon and Bram move apart and lean side-by-side against the car, fingers interlaced. They watch idly as Mindy and Mr. Greenfeld have an argument in gestures and eyebrows. Mr. Greenfeld rolls his eyes and makes a flapping motion at Mindy. "Abraham," he says. Bram lifts an eyebrow. "Your cousin Felix can only stay at the lake until Friday, because of—" He rubs his head. "A lot of reasons you don't care about. Aunt Jenny will be driving him to Shepherdville Friday morning and would probably pick you up on her way back. If you and Simon want… a few days."

Simon's heart races. He'd been trying not to think about the fact that his big gesture came mere moments before Bram's supposed to leave town for three weeks. If they're being offered a reprieve, he hopes Bram takes it.

Bram's other eyebrow goes up. "Shady Creek isn't on the way from Shepherdville."

Mindy snorts. "Trust me, kid; Jenny won't mind the extra time." Her expression turns sly. "In fact, if you wanted to bring Simon along for the weekend, she'd probably drive him home on Sunday." Aunt Jenny doesn't seem to be a fan of the lake house.

Bram looks at Simon, and Simon nods. "Yeah," he says. "I'll have to make sure my parents don't have anything big planned, but I'd love that. Thanks."

"Good," Mindy says. "That's settled, then."

Mr. Greenfeld beams and crosses the driveway to them, clapping Simon on the shoulder. "Welcome back, Simon," he says.

"Thanks, Mr. Greenfeld," Simon says sincerely, knowing he's just bought himself another ride on the _seriously-Simon-call-me-Dan_ -go-round.

"We should get going, Dan," Mindy says. Caleb seems to have figured out that Bram isn't coming with them and looks on the verge of a tantrum. "Lovely to see you again, Simon. Always an adventure."

Mr. Greenfeld pulls Bram into a hug. "See you Friday, kiddo."

" _Dad_ ," Bram groans. Then the glances at his mom. "Uh... hey, Mom, are you okay with me staying until Friday?"

"Hmm, a few extra days with my son," she muses. "I _guess_ that would be okay. I'll reschedule my Pedicures and Porn Party for next week."

Mindy laughs. Simon doesn't. He's never entirely sure when Bram's mom is joking.

"Hi, Simon," she calls. "That was an excellent romantic gesture."

"Thank you, Dr. Lester," Simon says with as much respect as he possibly can, because you do _not_ mess around with Bram's mom.

Mindy and Mr. Greenfeld hustle Caleb into his car seat, but Simon sees the lip wobble that precedes and outright meltdown when Bram doesn't get in the car. Bram goes over and sticks his head in the back window. Simon can't hear what he's saying, but he assumes it's Very Serious, because Bram talks to Caleb with the same level of solemnity most people reserve for heads of state. When Bram steps back, Caleb still looks pouty but less like he's going to start screaming at any second.

Mr. Greenfeld and Mindy get into the front seat and drive away waving, carefully easing around Simon's crap parking job. Then Simon cackles with laughter as Bram yelps, "Shit! My stuff!" and chases after the hatchback until his dad stops and lets Bram retrieve his suitcase and sleeping bag from the back.

Dr. Lester goes inside. Bram and Simon go to the backyard and sit on the two-person porch swing. Bram faces front, and Simon wedges himself in sideway so he can rest his head on Bram's chest.

In a few minutes, Simon will need to text Nora so she can assure their parents that he's okay, and that he'll explain everything later. In a few hours, it'll be punishingly hot, and they'll retreat inside to the AC. For now, a soft breeze blows across his face, and Bram's shirt is warm under his cheek, and he can hear the steady thump of Bram's heart. It's perfect.

"Simon," Bram says softly, and Simon feels the rumble of it. He makes a vague noise of assent. "That line of Septimus', about the jam—isn't that about the ultimate heat-death of the universe?"

Simon snorts against Bram's chest. "You don't think entropy's romantic?"

"Oh, shit, I _do_ ," Bram groans, and Simon laughs from the sheer delight of it.

"Hey, Bram," Simon whispers.

"Yeah, Simon," Bram whispers back.

"I'm still glad it's you."

Bram rests a hand on Simon's back. "Yeah. Me, too."

And like that, Simon and Bram are trying again. It doesn't feel like starting over. It feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos loved and appreciated. I'm quite slow about responding to comments, but I eventually do!
> 
> I also [take the tumbls](http://hugealienpie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
